My Life as a Young, Crazy Cat Lady with 25 Cats

 
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    February 11, 2013 at 4:30 am

    Most people think of the infamously hermetic and filthy “crazy cat lady” as a rabid old woman living in a boarded-up house at the end of the road. This is not always true. I know this because I was a crazy cat lady at the age of 20, and had 25 cats in Brooklyn.

    Playtime


    Playtime is the best part about being a crazy cat lady. All you need is a handful of Xanax, a bottle of liquor, two cases of catnip, and a few spools of thread and it’s an Andrew WK style party.

    There’s nothing like watching your cats go apeshit over string with wads of catnip stuck to their faces while you crawl on the floor getting in touch with your inner kitty. Make sure to have costume jewelry available so everyone involved can get extra-fancy.

    WARNING: Do not give Xanax to the cats. Those treats are for you.

     

    Filth


    There’s going to be some filth, and that’s an understatement. It’s the worst part about being a crazy cat lady. Try to scoop the litter boxes every day. Being bent over a box full of cat shit isn’t exactly what you’re trying to do before going out for a night on the town, but someone’s got to do it — and you’re the only one in the house (that’s right we murdered your roommates). Hold your breath for as long as you can and speed-scoop those clumpy boxes until you have a shopping bag full of cat excrement. Do not toss this in your inside garbage can. You will regret it.

    Ikea always has a great deal on those sticky rollers that pick up all the hair from fabric. Make sure you have at least 40 of those on deck at all times. Not only do you need to take care of your own clothing, but your visitors will be left standing like they were just covered in Nickelodeon slime until you hand them one of the magical rollers and let them de-hair themselves. Forget about couch cushions. You’ll just have to wash those. Using 200 sheets to remove a half-inch thick blanket of orange cat hair just doesn’t leave it with that “clean” feeling.


    Acquisitions


    When you have 20 cats, it’s hard not to acquire more cats. It’s like every cat is a magnet, and the more magnets you clump together, the more powerful your cat super-magnet becomes.

    Everyone begins to know you as the cat lady and wants to know if you could take their cat because they’re moving to California and don’t want to transport it. By the way, their friend is going to give two cats to the shelter if you can’t take them and everyone knows how much you despise the shelter, so what’s two more? Just take them. Here, I left them in a box on your staircase because I knew you’d say yes before even asking.

     

    The Freezer


    Look, sometimes it’s just easier to toss ‘em in the freezer than bury them in the yard. Especially when it’s winter. The ground is so hard in the winter. How am I supposed to dig a reasonable hole out of the frozen earth? I didn’t even want to try. Wrap the little guy in a blanket, pop him in the freezer (the storage freezer in the basement, if you have one) and forget about him until spring. And by “spring” I mean “next spring” because how are you supposed to remember that there’s a cat or five in your storage freezer six months from now? No one ever actually goes down there.

    When you rediscover little Frankie years later, he will look exactly the same as the cat you once knew and loved. Except he’s not a cat anymore, he’s just a cat body, and that’s okay — the passage has time has healed your wounds.

     

    Cat Bones


    Cat bones are what happens when you rediscover a perfectly frozen cat or unearth the burial site of a kitty you put underground a year or so ago. Cat bones can be used to make jewelry, wind chimes, and other creepy ornaments you can hang up around your house.

    Although the process of maceration is dirty, smelly, and all around pretty gross, the end result is worth it. If you’re into that sort of thing, which most people aren’t. No one really wants to scrub the cat meat off the bones of their former pet. Except me, I guess.

     
     
     
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